


piece of advice

by meremennen



Series: Just another day on the ground [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Based on a Tumblr Post, Bellamy is good at mending clothes, F/M, Kane and Bellamy talk about stuff, Set After Season 3, but the world is ok, canon-verse, stuff being Clarke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 14:03:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7717609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meremennen/pseuds/meremennen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a tumblr post: i’m really craving more bellamy/Abby scenes /// Give me some more Abby/Bellamy scenes - can you imagine Abby (or Kane) giving Bellamy THE TALK? /// (imagine abby and kane talking to bellamy at the same time MWAHAHAHAHAHAAHA then clarke’s comes in and I just-)</p><p>  <b>Kane and Bellamy talk about Clarke. </b><br/>Or: Kane giving Bellamy the "the talk".</p><p>Set in canon-verse. Let’s pretend the world isn’t melting, Abby and Kane are getting married and Bellamy is good at mending clothes.</p><p> </p><p>  <b>***edited: 12.09.2016 ***</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	piece of advice

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fanfiction I've ever written in canon verse! 
> 
> All mistakes are mine.

Bellamy is so immersed in the pile of clothing lying around on the table in front of him - mostly socks and a light camisole he’s volunteered to patch -that he doesn’t notice when Chancellor Kane enters his quarters that afternoon.

"Bellamy," Kane announces his presence by clearing his throat. Looking at his current demeanour, though, - an odd dance between his usual reserved, peaceful stance and shifting his weight from one foot to the other - Kane must have been standing in the doorway for a while.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" he asks.

He sounds a bit off, which  - coupled with his weird dance moves  - is indeed, very much un-Kane-like.

"I- ah ... yes, of course,“ Bellamy says, letting the soft fabric slip through his fingers. For a brief moment he considers holding onto the needle, but - for his own safety - he reasons it's better to place it on the big chipped magnet that Raven had smuggled from her lab. "For his hobbies" as she's put it.

He uses the magnet as paperweight most of the time, or on the rare occasions like this, it serves purely as a magnet. With all those tiny pointy objects like pins and needles scattered around, god help him, he needs something like that.

He straightens his back and starts to rise to his feet but Kane hushes him quickly before he can stand.

"No, it isn’t necessary. It will only take a minute of your time,” he regards him, and then also adds “maybe a little more.”

Kane is not exactly looking at him, he notes.  His eyes are decidedly fixed on the small mountain of garments piling on his desk.

But then Kane tilts his head, just enough to meet him in the eye. He doesn’t say anything for another excruciating minute as if to gather his courage for whatever it is to come.

He clears his throat before finding his voice, finally. “I can see you’re busy, “Kane tells him, emotions concealed.

“It's okay, sir.” The corners of his lips tilt up faintly at that, the beginnings of a smile.

"Son,” Kane looks him in the eye,” like I said - there’s  _ something _ I wanted to talk to you about."

For all stoic and determined that Kane usually is, he sounds embarrassed.

Bellamy wasn't really all that worried before, well, he is now. Maybe it's the odd stutter in the chancellor’s voice; or, maybe it's the way the older man is looking at him - with an intensity that could set his hair on fire. That, combined with the fact that Bellamy is still seated behind the desk, in the middle of ... something.

Something that - by any measure - still counts on the ground as ‘ _ fixing underwear _ ’.

Or, that Kane is very much over-towering his seated form, emanating power and making him feel like a child. Like the father figure, he’d never had. Now, that - that’s what puts him on edge.

(His palms are starting to sweat.)

"Clarke is practically like a daughter to me. The wedding is just two shy days away, it's almost official..."

"Oh-kay," Bellamy probes, careful, eyebrows slightly furrowed, waiting for Kane to elaborate.

And he doesn’t.

Bellamy’s mouth is suddenly all dry like sandpaper, he has to swallow. Then he clears his own throat, twice, before he chances a glance at him, finding his voice.

"What can I do for you, Sir?" His voice is still careful, he doesn’t trust it, but he thinks it’s a safe enough question to ask.

"Like I said, Clarke’s like a daughter to me ... So I have to ask ... What are your intentions with my daughter?” Kane inquires, with a good amount of decorum and steadiness in his voice. It’s hard to believe it is the same man who's almost walked a dent into his floor, nervous, just a few minutes ago. Which, now seems like something that’d happened a week ago.

His stomach drops. He hasn’t expected  _ this _ from Kane, of all.

"Sir,” Bellamy starts, wetting his lips. His voice is still careful, he  _ still _ doesn’t trust it, and he is right not to trust it. His palms are getting sweatier and clammier by the minute, which is a telltale sign of  _ his _ growing nerves.  And, he still doesn’t know what exactly he’s going to say, that is.

He starts to put together an argument in his head and replies “I don't know what you’re talking about—” but his voice sounds weak.

"I think you do,” Kane cuts in, without a trace of his earlier embarrassment. He’s using his chancellor voice, for one. And second, he stares him square in the eye - so he knows this is real and Kane is serious.

The truth is - he doesn't know.

He  _ does _ know what Clarke means to him, per se, but he hasn't decided what to do about it. Or, if he  _ is _ going to do anything about it. Yet.

"Sir, I —“ he stutters when he’s cut off by Kane once again.

“Bellamy, just think about it, okay?” he drops his head and takes a step closer, then another until he reaches the desk. “If you care to take an advice from an old man with a greying beard- “ Kane starts and lets himself a crooked, minuscule smile tug at his lips. He plants his palms on the table, confident, shifting his weight forward and lowering his voice for Bellamy’s ears to be the only ones to hear. Like he’s about to whisper a secret. “I’d recommend acting on it,” he tells him, mild.

It’s the soothing baritone of Kane’s voice; or, maybe it’s the raised eyebrows and the pleading but resolved quality of his eyes.  But for a happy moment there he feels like a little boy again, whose hopes hadn’t been crushed by the ARK’s cold reality.

His lips are slightly parted, his eyelids are definitely fluttering. (He does it sometimes when he's struck by unexpected kindness.)

And he doesn’t remember   _ how _ or when exactly the soft material he'd been grabbing is back in his hands again but it’s definitely there. His fingers tighten around it, balling it into a crumpled mess.

Abby walks in on them then; her hurried footsteps signalling her arrival by breaking the silence of the room. Her determined steps are eerily resembling the way Clarke is storming into places when she’s in a hurry. Which is most of the time, Bellamy thinks to himself.

The thought of Clarke coaxes something warm bloom within him and he cannot completely keep the slight smile off his face, but he manages to pull it back by the time Abby halts to a stop.

Abby’s eyes are still fierce, even now, knowing a better future is ahead of them. (A future they’d fought for to keep so hard.)

But there’s something else. Abby’s eyes are positively sparkling. She’s also lost that emotionless edge to her face she’d used to wear before.  Well, before they’d gotten Clarke back.

Kane takes a step back, removing his arms, which pulls Bellamy out of his reverie. Abby stops at Kane's side, her flailing brown hair coming to rest on her shoulders with her body. And soon she waves her fingers together with Kane’s.

She only glances briefly at Bellamy before looking down at his hands, still lying on the table. She seems to be thinking about something, hard, and then raises her eyes back at his. Her lips are twisting upwards, into something soft.  And then she shakes her head, albeit infinitesimally so.

"Bellamy," she nods as a way of greeting. ”Do you mind if I steal Marcus for a moment? There's something we need to discuss as a matter of urgency.”

Abby smiles. “I think, Clarke is on her way to pick you up.”

They leave eventually, and as they leave Kane is throwing a knowing look over his shoulder. “Sooner rather than later, son. We never know when the world is going to end. Again.” His eyes lock into his as he says it.

Kane and Abby are already gone when he lets himself exhale and then inhale. A few deep breaths.

“Okay,” Bellamy whispers to the, by then empty, room.

He's also stretching his arms like the conversation was straining his muscles beyond his limits and he needs the exercise for avoiding the muscle cramps.

It's only when he takes another deep breath when a familiar scent reaches his nose.

He would remember the scent anywhere.

It’s Clarke’s.

It’s a bit like the early morning dew and the dandelion they’d found after the first rain on the ground. There’s something peculiar about it, though, something that is distinctly hers.

The same scent that’s been lingering in her hair and on her skin.  The scent he’s got familiar with well enough while breathing her in.

She smells like warmth and home.

He only remembers then, that he’s grabbed a fabric somewhere around the time Kane was asking him about  _ his intentions  _ with Clarke. He dares a peek and... the fabric in his hand is one of Clarke’s.  This explains the odd looks and Abby’s smile.

It’s the soft thin deep blue camisole with a thin lace trimming. Just one of the things among the batch of socks. The one thing that Clarke had asked him to patch around the edges where it started to loosen a bit.

A rush of heat, thankfully too late for anyone to notice, spreads all over his face.  

“Great,” he murmurs, dropping his head to the table, letting go of the camisole.

He’s so overwhelmed with the smell that he doesn’t notice when Clarke steps into the room.

A soft hand on his shoulders is what makes him alert and straighten up in the end.

She greets him with a smile, which makes his head feel lighter and his heart thump in a mad rhythm, from no more than her proximity. (Every single time.)

“Are you ready?" she asks, cheerful.

Her hair is finally back to that bright sunlight colour, he notices. The same colour he’d got to see her for the first time they’d met, all those gruesome months ago. Like the dandelion.

Even though they returned to Arkadia the same day they'd defeated ALIE, it had still taken a couple of months her hair to have lost the remaining shades of that fading pinkish red - the last remnants of Wanheda.

He ducks his head, willing his heart rate to slow back down to a normal rhythm. Or at least slow enough to make his voice sound less wobbly and more like his.

_ Yeah, soon _ , he thinks, rising to his feet, returning her smile with one of his own.

^^^

 

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone interested -  
> I picked **dandelion** because it’s yellow (energetic), although it’s technically a weed, but also an edible weed, with medicinal properties, and might be just a teeny bit toxic if you are not careful enough. Anyway, yellow flowers remind me of spring and new beginnings. So that’s why.
> 
> Comments would be nice.


End file.
